


rhythms of the night

by pentaghasts



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Vague World-Building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentaghasts/pseuds/pentaghasts
Summary: Dimitri’s eye grew distant, watching the ebbing fires of the guard patrols below them, “If the goddess is listening tonight, maybe that is what we can wish for. A resolution to this senseless haunting.”The war lingers in the shadows, and Dimitri has one last ghost to settle with.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Dimitri had wanted a simple coronation. To quietly step into his role without the grandeur, the festivities, the celebration. He feebly argued it would not be practical, with the strained resources they already had. And did not everyone, even the former Alliance and Adrestian leaders, already refer to him as “Your Majesty”? 

But his true words remained buried in the hollow of his stomach. Dimitri wanted a simple coronation because he felt he did not deserve it. As he thought about it further, he wondered: how does a beast parade himself in front of the masses, pretending to be the worthy descendant of a hundred holy kings? How could the people around him not gag at his horrid sight? Not smell the festering blood on his crooked hands? Hear the crunch of bones in every heavy footstep? 

But it was Felix, with a sharp sword and even sharper words, who gruffly reminded him that the people desperately needed a morale boost during their time in the training ground. 

“They’re not soldiers, Felix,” Dimitri protested, learning on his lance in the training grounds. His breath clouded the frigid air.

“No,” Felix sheathed his sword, “But they need something to believe in. To hope for. Denying them at least some form of revelry after years of war would be cruel.” 

Dimitri sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. He looked at Felix, watching a few inky strands fall out of his ponytail to frame his face in waves. The fog of his breath passed through his visage, and for a moment, Dimitri thought Rodrigue was speaking to him. 

But Felix raised his hands to fix his hair, shaking away the illusion. He was here. He was real, steering Dimitri to the right course in what seemed like, at times, the empty ocean of their future. He was a far cry from the small child who clung to Dimitri’s and Sylvain’s cloak with tears in his eyes. 

Felix snapped the last button on his cloak and said his goodbye, attaching a half hearted “boar” at the end. Dimitri did not mind the name. He could reconcile with that better than “Your Majesty.”

“Besides,” Felix called, turning the corner, “Not everything will be out of your control.”

With those words circling in his mind, Dimitri made up his mind and sought out Dedue with an idea. 

He was initially met with resistance. “Dimitri, I do not believe an earring will ease your transition into kingship.” 

Dimitri could not even relish at the sound of his name, “I know. There is a long, hard battle ahead of us, my friend. One that will last our entire lives,” he fixed his eye on Dedue, “But if I must have a coronation, then I want to show the people that I will build a Kingdom that accepts all. Even if I must do so symbolically for now. Please, Dedue. Let the earring serve as a reminder of the promise that I made to you, to the people of Fodlan.”

Faerghan men, particularly the nobles, did not pierce their ears; to serve honorably was to keep the body whole. Dimitri already heard the whispers behind his back. The black eyepatch was a sign of his mistakes at best, and the sanctity of his honor defiled at worst. But both he and Dedue well knew that “honor” was a flimsy excuse to visually establish a hierarchy between Faerghan men from those of Duscur.

“Honor” was a tool of power to be dismantled in the new world. To have the king’s ear pierced was merely the beginning of an exhumation; to unearth a history of hate and expose a painful system that Dimitri and Dedue were all too conscious of.

When Dedue finally relented, a mix of hope and love swelled in both of their hearts. 

Mercedes cheerfully offered her needles for the piercing, as long as she could watch. She and Byleth stood on Dimitri’s right side, peering curiously in the candlelight. Dedue carefully heated a thin needle and pressed it into Dimitri’s left ear. The light burst of pain felt all too familiar; Dimitri concentrated on it before exhaling, releasing its hold upon him. 

Mercedes approached, her hand glowing with a healing spell, but Dimitri quickly declined, wanting to remember this. She and Byleth exchanged a look and quietly left the room together.

Dedue fastened his own gold earring from their school days upon Dimitri’s lobe with nimble fingers. Once secure, Dedue and Dimitri stared at their reflections in the mirror. Dedue gingerly placed his scarred hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and squeezed. In Duscur, Dimitri suddenly recalled, earrings were exchanged between family members. This earring held a gravity that suspended them both at a loss for words. How far they had come from such pain and terror as a prince and his vassal, and how far they had yet to go as friends. 

The following night during the coronation procession, many of the Faerghan nobles who weedled their way out of the war, but into attending the ceremony, had gawked at the new king, pointing fingers at his pierced ear. Their living voices mingled with those of the dead, and Dimitri’s head felt heavier with every step. But as he entered the cathedral, his path cut by the angular moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows, they sullenly bled into the background. They were voices - nothing more.

Dimitri kneeled upon a large blue cushion to await the Anointment. He was dressed in a plain white suit, but would be soon clothed in the attire of kings. He would become simply more than a man. Or a beast, his mind idly offered. Dimitri’s left ear still ached, freshly pierced and weighed down by the heavy earring.

Behind Dimitri, the former Blue Lions took their places in ornamental suits. Although typically delegated to traditional knights, Dimitri would not have any others stand by his side. Each held ceremonial daggers of the Faerghan orders in one hand and a long candle in the other. Their skirts and shoes gently scraped against the stone floor, and he watched their shadows surround his, flickering slightly in the candlelight.

He closed his eye, thinking briefly of their reunion for the Millennium. He never had intended to fulfill that promise, much less expected the others to do so. But here they all were, by his side. Although he did not know where their paths would now take them, Dimitri felt deliriously sated that no one had been unjustly taken away from him. He had the goddess to thank for fulfilling his wishes that night long ago. 

As a shadow began to materialize in the veiled apse, growing stronger in his vision, Dimitri wanted to shout praises, to worship through his rotten lips. 

Shamir lifted a translucent curtain, and Byleth approached in her blue and gold regalia, her hair laced with pink ribbons and white flowers. Her path was lit by hundreds of candles, illuminating the dark space. Her robes trailed in a large lunette behind her.

Dimitri marveled at her with absolute adoration. While the inner circle knew about the king and the archbishop's engagement, the public had yet to know. Later during the feast, some would praise the new king’s reverence for the archbishop, while others would mutter under their breaths that he stared a little _too_ unabashedly.

Dimitri watched Byleth’s lips curl into a small smile before intoning a few lines for the Anointment. Her hair seemed to glow from the moonlight pouring in from the windows behind her, constrasting with the warm flames casting dancing shadows on her skin. He listened to the inflections of her voice, strong enough to deploy commands on a battlefield, but gentle enough to coax him into a peaceful sleep. 

After the brief prayer, Gustave emerged from the apse carrying a set of pauldrons on a cushion. It was Lambert’s ceremonial armor, or what was left of it. Dimitri swallowed, briefly longing to see his father, physically beside him, rather than a ghost who flitted in his waking moments. What would he have said if he were here? The choir began to chant in low prayer as Dimitri lifted his arms and Gustave gently strapped the pauldrons onto his shoulders with a quick efficiency. 

The white pauldrons were slightly large upon Dimitri’s shoulders, which Gustave had noticed during the ceremony rehearsal. Dimitri kept his gaze downcast, discomforted by the gaping space he would have to fulfill. But in his usual stoic demeanor, Gustave had quietly noted, “I have awaited this day since the first day of my tutelage. These pauldrons may not properly fit, but they were never meant to.” Gustave finished buckling a strap, “Your father’s legacy will not haunt you. Nor will the other holy kings of Faerghus. You will create your own path as king.” 

Gustave disappeared, signaling Alois to emerge with a rich, blue cloak lined with dark fur. Delicate embroidery in gold thread covered the canvas of the cloth. Alois circled around to Dimitri, draped the heavy cloth upon his shoulders. The warmth immediately sank into his bones, buoying him in the blue canvas of cushion beneath his knees. The cloak trailed behind Dimitri in a half moon. Facing Byleth, they looked like two celestial bodies glowing in the night sky, in constant orbit of each other. 

Alois shot him a quick wink and Dimitri stifled a grin, thinking of their procession together to the cathedral. Walking behind him, Alois had whispered rather loudly, gesturing at Dimitri’s thick hair, “Look at your wonderful braid! Your Majesty will not have to worry about a receding heir line…” Gustave had given an exasperated sigh, while Alois forcefully subsided his chortles, but Dimitri could not help but release a few huffs of laughter, lowering his face to hide from the crowd. 

Seteth arrived with the final object, approaching in quick, dignified steps. With his long hands, he unraveled a scarf decorated with thin interlocking chains, signaling the unity of the new kingdom. He wrapped it twice around Dimitri’s neck, circumambulating carefully. Thin tendrils of chains dangled upon Dimitri’s chest, oscillating with every rise of his chest.

Seteth did not have much to say to Dimitri before the ceremony, other than a gruff reminder that if anything were to happen to Byleth, Dimitri would have much to account for. Seteth had left without giving a chance to Dimitri to respond, but his answer was always clear: he would endure thousands of more ghosts if it meant keeping her safe.

Seteth took his position behind Byleth, gesturing for the choir to transition into the next verse. Dimitri raised his hands, his palms raised upwards. Each finger was adorned with a prayer ring, blessed by the archbishop herself, save for a ring on his left hand, which gleamed with purple stones. 

Shamir deposited a vial of holy water into Byleth’s hands. She uncorked the bottle with a small pop and poured the cool liquid over his hands, which ran into a bowl below. Their hands mirrored each other, both littered with countless scars that ran deep in their intertwined history. Byleth dried his hands with a white cloth, and he could feel her faint warmth through the fabric, each wipe a lingering heat.

Once dry, Byleth placed a blue dagger upon his right palm, her own, Dimitri recognized, and a white lily in the other, their fingers brushing together. As they parted, his hands twitched upwards, as if it were reflexive, natural, to hold her hands. 

Flayn then emerged at Byleth’s side, holding yet another cushion. Upon it rested the crown. It was a rather simple, but heavy band, decorated with a few shards of blue-green stones. The original crown of the divine kings had, unfortunately, been lost to war; Cornelia had taken more than just lives with her. The entire royal suite had been sold to unknown hands and hidden away in distant places. One day, Dimitri intended to find his family’s legacy. But in this new world, the importance of his reclamations dispersed when his family surrounded him now in the cathedral, in the flesh.

Byleth delicately held the crown like a halo above Dimitri’s head. She lowered it, and Dimitri felt the cold metal encircle his head. Byleth withdrew her hands, gently swiping across the falling strands of his hair. He shivered, watching her hands clasp together above her ribs. 

“With the blessing of the beloved goddess, may Victory guide your lance, and Honor lead your heart.” Byleth paused. She then spoke with a carefully neutral face. “May your hands, ever full of strength, remain steady. May your eye, full of light, see clearly. Above all, may your heart grow even fuller with every heartbeat. May you pave the future you hope to seek.”

Next to Byleth, Seteth shifted slightly at the altered words. Dimitri resisted yet another smile, hearing his beloved’s improvisations. As the recently appointed archbishop, there was little time to restore a Kingdom ravaged by war and also memorize the endless pages of prayers, chants, and rites for daily devotions, much less for the coronation ceremony. During the late nights they spent together, Byleth had constantly muttered the rites under her breath as they drifted to and from sleep. At this point, Dimitri could recite the Coronation prayers as well. 

“Rise, King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the Savior King of Faerghus.” 

The small orchestra in a side chapel began to play as Dimitri raised himself. The pressure lifted from his knees, and the blood rushed down his legs. Dimitri and Byleth shared a smile with each other in the cathedral, believing for a moment that it was just the two of them. Dimitri wanted to reach for her hand, to walk together into the moonlight, but after a lingering look, he turned to face his friends and his people sequested in the aisles. 

The crowds began to chant their new king’s name. Dimitri walked through the nave, following the rhythm of the music. Behind him, Dedue led the way, followed by Felix and Sylvain, Ingrid and Ashe, and Annette and Mercedes. 

Dimitri wanted to look back, to return Byleth’s gaze from afar, but as he stepped outside, the moonlight greeted his face in a cool embrace and clung to the surface of the chains. King Dimitri stopped at the entrance of the cathedral, raising a hand to the clusters below, shouting his name and waving little arcs of candles in the dark. Overwhelmed, he tried to look at every face, searing the lines and forms into his memory. He could never let himself forget this sight.

He continued to walk along the path of flower petals, turned blue in the night, and waved at the swarming crowds, knowing Byleth too was with every step that he took.

The people would later say the Savior King was a vision to be remembered. Glowing and shimmering with every step, he appeared truly beloved by the goddess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a feast, a friend, a forewarning

Every seat was occupied by both commoners and nobles. The cups clinked together in merriment, echoing throughout the hall. Heaps of food, ranging from two-fish sautes, spicy Duscurian soups, to multiple tiers of cakes, weighed every table in the monastery. Soldiers passed in and out under the direction of Yuri and Hapi, distributing food to the church attendants and local townspeople outside of the gates. No one would go hungry tonight. 

“Slow down, Ingrid. No one’s taking your food,” Sylvain laughed, watching her nearly inhale a pheasant roasted in berry sauce. Ingrid rolled her eyes, eerily like a certain Fraldarius, and elbowed Sylvain, who bowed over in exaggeration. He didn’t notice Mercedes slyly take a spoonful of his peach sorbet. She looked away, blinking innocently when Sylvain turned back in his seat to whisper in her ear. Annette snickered and poked Felix’s nose before escaping to the dessert table, running into Lysithea and Cyril on the way. Ashe scraped away the last of his stew, pale cheeks pink with wine, and tugged on Dedue’s sleeve to speak with him. 

A laugh drew Byleth’s attention. Besides her, Dimitri furtively smelled each food and listened to Dedue and Ashe. He carefully held the delicate wine glasses in his hand, his head tilted in multiple directions to listen to the flowing conversations around him. Byleth linked their hands together under the starched tablecloth, and his thumb absentmindedly rubbed the back of her hand. Her eyes drifted over his face in lieu of her wanting hands, from his angled jawbone to his lower lashes. How beautiful it was to see him content. 

At moments like these, the war seemed like a distant memory, far enough away to never hurt them. Her heart seemed to lurch, to pulse in her chest as if she were turning back to a time where she was a professor again, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. 

_Could I have protected them during those five years? She thought, playing that familiar tune. What would have happened if I were here? Where would we be now?_

But the winding cycle of her thoughts halted as a noble at a nearby table knocked over a chalice. It shattered against the stone floor, splintering into tiny slivers of glass. Byleth and her students flinched at the sound. Their gazes wandered absently into the distance before silently resuming their conversations. A tension lurked in their shoulders, a slight shadow in their eyes. She nodded gratefully at the servants who efficiently swept up the glass and retreated, but her head seemed to drum with every note of the now cacophonic music, and her circlet seemed to constrict around her head. The cloying scent of the flowers seemed to grow even stronger, making her nauseous. 

The war ate with them, it breathed with them. It lived in them.

It was Dimitri who tugged her hand and whispered into her ear, “Do you need air, beloved?”

Byleth opened her mouth to reply, clammering for her words, but was interrupted by a cluster of gaudy Kingdom nobles decorated with ribbons and lace. They proffered their delicately clothed hands to Dimitri, hoping to discuss politics or even boast about dancing with the new king. Dimitri’s jaw clenched briefly, but unable to refuse, he politely accepted, rising from his seat. Byleth let go, her hand feeling cold, and watched him walk towards the main space. Dedue gave a quick nod to Byleth, before following Dimitri to keep guard. 

She pressed her hand against her lips, hoping to gather the rapidly draining warmth against her skin. Felix watched besides her, silent but knowing. 

“There goes our White Heron representative,” Felix muttered, slowly drawing Byleth into a smile. 

Byleth had little experience in dancing, if the drunken swaying of her father’s mercenary crew could count. But she knew that Dimitri was undeniably a good dancer, honed by years of noble training. During the dance practices, Byleth would watch Dimitri’s moving figure, feeling like a fraud in the midst of the courtyard. While Manuela clapped a rhythm for Dimitri to dance to, Byleth would secretly watch Hubert, mirroring his footsteps, as if she could pretend she belonged as well. 

“Maybe I should have made you the dancer. You certainly have the agility.”

Felix snorted, “Then that would have been your first strategic loss.” 

In the midst of their recollection, Dimitri had switched partners multiple times. He stood out in the crowd, light on his feet despite his towering height. Byleth noticed how the tension bled out of his shoulders when Marianne cautiously interceded. He held her hand gently before they began to sweep across the floor in a swirl of blue and yellow. Dimitri actually smiled as he conversed with Marianne.

Byleth leaned against her hand, feeling calm once more. Her eyes wandered, noticing Mercedes gently drawing a mildly flustered Sylvain to the main floor. Byleth continued to watch as an odd look crossed over Sylvain’s face, one of earnesty. Byleth tapped her cheek, wondering if she should have put them on stable duty together more until she heard a cough behind her.

She tensed, her hand sneaking into a pocket sewn into her robes. She gripped a dagger, small enough to hide, but effective enough to defend herself. She steadied her breath and turned, only to see a familiar face. 

It was Claude.

“My friend,” Byleth said warmly.

He gave her a familiar wink, the coins clinking on his sash. He swept one hand through his windswept hair and used the other as an offering, “Would it be too improper to ask the archbishop for a dance?”

Byleth smiled with a twinge of sadness, “Some will talk, as they do, but we were never ones for tradition, were we?”

Claude snorted in agreement, and they walked to a corner of the open floor. Claude and Byleth stepped into rhythm for a dance that was not created for people like them.

He gave an easy laugh, but his eyes continued to flit around, “Aren’t we a long way from our first dance during the Festival?” 

“I’m glad you’re here, Claude. I wasn’t sure when I would see you again.” 

“It’s good to see you as well, my friend.” 

Byleth gathered her skirts and properly looked at Claude - his shoulders were broader, his eyes a little darker, his cheekbones sharper. They were indeed a long way from their first dance. He was no longer the boy who stepped through the crowd of uniformed students, approaching her when no one else dared to. After that, Byleth gathered the courage to invite him to tea, quietly collecting Almyran pine needles. It felt like a game to them at first; trust doled out in carefully measured truths and lies. But with every cup, somehow Byleth became privy to his hopes and dreams, and he to her thoughts and loneliness. He was never her student, but a friend from the very beginning. And now he was a king. 

She could smell the fresh air clinging to his clothes, “I didn’t see you at the coronation. When did you arrive?” 

“Just now, actually. The winds were quite nasty. Even Hala was struggling to navigate through them,” he narrowly missed a stumbling drunk noble, “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony. I’m sure you put on a show.”

Byleth shook her head at the apology, but laughed, “I actually forgot a few lines of the ceremony rites. I thought Seteth would have my head.”

His eyes crinkled in genuine humor, “Now that’s something I don’t miss from the Garreg Mach days.” 

Byleth’s eyes softened, “Where are Nader and the others? Did you travel alone?”

He grimaced slightly, “I did travel alone. I know tensions are already high, especially between the Faerghans and the Duscurians. I figured bringing the Almyran Royal Guard wouldn’t exactly help. Besides, Nader is looking after things while I’m here.” 

She nodded at his logic, but couldn’t help but feel concerned, “I suppose you’re right. Although I’m glad you’re safe, you didn’t have to rush to get here. I want you safe.” 

Claude’s facade cracked slightly. They slowed, in time with the music, and his eyes hardened, calculating. Byleth knew that look; she could carry the same face. As he casted side glances at the dancing pairs oscillating around them, alarm started to bubble in her chest, “Claude, what is going on?” 

His hand tightened around hers, and he took a deep breath, “There’s another reason why I came alone. I have urgent news,” he sidestepped a drunk noble, “I meant to come before the ceremony, but I need to speak with you and Dimitri privately,” he pursed his lips and glanced over to Dimitri, who was just parting with Marianne, “I can’t really say much right now, but you have to hear this.”

Suddenly, the clinking cups sounded like crossing swords, and the laughters warped into screams. Byleth’s throat tightened, “How serious must the news be?”

Claude gazed at her, sincere this time, “It’s serious. Promise me some time?”

Byleth inhaled shakily, “Of course. Is it possible to talk about it over tea tomorrow?”

Claude’s eyebrows drew together, but he smiled, “I think that will work,” he squeezed her hand, “Now, I think a certain betrothed is setting his eyes on you. Thank you for letting me dance with you. I’ve missed this,” He gave her one last twirl and then bowed, pressing her knuckles against his forehead. He drifted away, shaking Dimitri’s hand as they passed each other. The two kings exchanged a few words and Byleth took the time to recollect herself, sidestepping the moving bodies as if they were her fears drifting away. 

Byleth tried to make her voice steady, “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

Dimitri immediately noticed her unease. Wary of possibly being overheard, he replied instead, “I am. It is more than I deserve.”

She shook her head, “You deserve this and more.”

He lowered his gaze and smiled softly. When he lifted his eye, Byleth smiled back. He offered his arm, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Byleth nodded eagerly and looped a hand around his elbow. They passed by Annette, who gave them a cheerful wave, and Felix, who looked mildly at peace for the most part.

Yuri and Hapi leaned against the walls at the corners of the room, finished with the food distribution. They smirked at Dimitri and Byleth, and Hapi raised her glass, “Enjoy the walk, lovebirds.”

Dimitri and Byleth both flushed as they exited, and invited the cool air to wash over their faces. Byleth’s hand slid down Dimitri’s forearm and clasped their fingers together. He squeezed and she felt his presence radiating from his palm. 

Their footsteps echoed on the stone, before Dimitri guided them into a shaded alcove, his hand on her hip, “I couldn’t help but notice...what troubles you, my beloved?”

Byleth sighed slightly as she stepped deeper into the alcove, “I do not wish to ruin the night, nor did Claude for the matter, but he needs to meet with us tomorrow. Most likely after your gifting ceremony,” she pressed her hand on his elbow, “He said he has bad news.”

Dimitri stilled, his jaw tense, “Did he specify what he meant by that?”

Byleth shook her head and they stood, deep in thought. 

“The war...the war is not over yet, is it?”

Byleth felt the bile rising in her stomach, “I do not know.”

Her words seemed to echo in the dark. The shadows seemed to expand, wrapping around them. Byleth tugged Dimitri from the alcove, away from the unknown that threatened to consume them, and they continued to walk together in an extended silence, lost in their own thoughts. Before they realized it, they found themselves winding towards the goddess tower. 

They exchanged a look, and the grim night seemed to brighten as they ascended, the stars shifting in every sight, their own shadows long behind them. Instead, their memories drew them forward, to the time they were just a professor and student, unknowing their futures were intertwined.

The moon greeted them at the top, and Dimitri draped his cloak over Byleth, drawing her into an embrace as they stared into the sky, “Is it selfish to wish for us to spend tonight without any fears for the future?” 

Byleth ruminated, thinking of the shards of glass scattering the floor, “I wonder the same. Everyday, we are haunted by the past and fearful of the future,” she waved her hand aimlessly, at a loss for words, “Is there ever an end to any of this?”

Dimitri’s eye grew distant, watching the ebbing fires of the guard patrols below them, “If the goddess is listening tonight, maybe that is what we can wish for. A resolution to this senseless haunting.” 

Byleth hummed in agreement. The more she dressed as the archbishop, the more she recited the prayers and devotions, the farther Sothis’s voice felt. The absence in her heart seemed to grow, expanding in search of something familiar, something safe. An answer to a restless question.

But as she gazed upwards at Dimitri, she wondered if Sothis had already given her the answer. Catching her glance, Dimitri pressed his hands around her face. She couldn’t help but lean upwards to kiss him. His lips felt cool against hers. Her fingers trailed down his broad back, pressing their bodies together.

Distantly, Byleth remembered the mercenaries she and her father would encounter on the road, all with their own stories to share over several pitchers of beer. Although her father had halfheartedly tried to shield her ears from hearing the worst of it, she remembered listening in the background with her straight face. She remembered how one particular bard, who they had encountered multiple times, described love as loud; as the soul set on fire. But Byleth couldn’t help but disagree. She felt soothed by Dimitri’s presence, thinking faintly of her favorite mint tea. As Dimitri’s breath huffed against her skin and she smiled into the kiss, she almost felt her heart beat. 

They finally drew apart, pressing their foreheads together.

“Whatever the news may be, we will be ready.“

Dimitri nodded solemnly, “Yes, we will,” he tucked a strand of minty hair behind her ear and shyly adjusted her disheveled flowers, “Besides, the goddess did answer my other wishes after all.”

Byleth smiled and tucked her head against his chest, listening to the strong pulses in his chest, letting it string together her gaping heart. They stood there until the trumpeters called for an end to the night. They reluctantly departed back to the dining hall to give their farewells, a pair of notes in the rhythm of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slow chapter but i felt that i had to build up to the next chapter, which is where the real conversation happens. love to know what y'all think thank you for reading!! 
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/munagerie) for updates!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare, the gifting ceremony, and an encounter.

Dimitri awoke to choked breathing. He shot up in the bed, turning Byleth over in his arms. He grasped her shoulder and shook as gently as possible. “Byleth? Please wake up, Byleth.” 

She startled at his voice, her eyes rolling around frantically before settling on his face. Her eyes eerily shone in the dark, as if reflecting the stars peering from the open window. They often drew the curtains in the night to let the moonlight sneak in. 

He stroked her matted hair. “Take a deep breath.”

She pressed her lips together, containing the bursts of gasps, and struggled to control her breathing. Byleth raised a shaking hand against his chest, aligning her inhales and exhales with every rise and dip of his body.

When she finally quieted, Dimitri wrapped her closer to him, cushioning her head with one arm. His hand scrambled around, searching for the fallen blanket. He draped it tightly around her back and settled back into the soft pillows, unable to offer anything other than his own staccato pulses.

How many nights did they spend, wanting to shield each other from the horrors of dreams? 

He thought of the day when she collapsed in the Sealed Forest, reborn from a tear in the sky. When he was still a student, carrying his beloved professor away from the battlefield. All he could remember was panic growing with every footstep, the fear of being yet again helpless to loss. She was so warm in his arms, but he could not feel a heartbeat in her silent body. 

After Manuela had taken in the professor, he had collapsed in the empty corridor, bile raising in his throat. He pressed his fingers into the floor, begging to feel something other than burnt flesh. Even Glenn’s body, long after his last breath, had felt warm in the fires. His own father’s cheek had been scorching. He continued to scrape his nails against the floor. How long does a body stay warm after death? 

When Byleth had recovered, with green eyes instead of blue, he would continue to observe her for months after, wondering if she were just like him: a body without a soul. But each time she pressed her hand against her cheek in thought, each time she gave him a rare smile, he realized, perhaps she was more alive than ever. 

And not just alive in the sense of simple existence, a prolonged pause, but in the sense of vibrancy - a melody of shifting notes transforming into something more. 

Dimitri played with the strands of Byleth’s hair, rooting her into a rhythm she could understand.

Byleth finally murmured into his neck, “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You never have to apologize for that.” Dimitri pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Yes...yes, you’re right.” She brushed her lips in the hollow of his throat. “Tonight made me think of all of the students.” Byleth paused. “I saw them again tonight.” 

Dimitri rubbed a hand between her shoulder blades in circles. He knew who she was speaking of. 

Although most of the students had flocked to Byleth’s side when she awoke after five long years of war, there were still a few she could not convince. They were the ones who haunted her.

During one of their many sleepless nights, Byleth had confessed that when there were no other strategies, no other divine pulses left in her body to give, she had struck the final blow. Other than Edelgard, she had promised herself that none of her students would have to kill each other. These burdens, she thought, were her own. 

And now, she lived with them.

She opened her glazed eyes. One hand traced down his shirt along his spine, following the line of each rising vertebrae. She brushed over old scars that once made him shirk, but now, made him shiver. Byleth’s other hand cupped his face, and he leaned into her touch. He held a breath, as her thumb lightly swept over his scarred eye. Dimitri had been so afraid to take the eyepatch off. To show Byleth what a monster he truly was. But her eyes had softened and asked for no explanation. She had pressed a kiss to the same spot she was now caressing, as if it were deserving, loved. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” she mumbled after a few beats of silence. 

“About what, beloved?”

“My little improvisation at the end of your ceremony.” Dimitri let out a chuckle and felt Byleth smile wryly against his skin. Her eyelashes fluttered, closing in exhaustion. She murmured, “I know you have been fearful of what is to come. That the actions of the past will torment your tomorrows. But I also know you, Dimitri. I know your vision, your heart, your strength. The Kingdom is in safe hands.”

She patted her own hand against his chest. Dimitri lifted it to his face, as if he could hide behind it, but ended up brushing his lips over her knuckles. His crooked fingers dwarfed her own, and couldn’t help but marvel at hers, awash with shades of blue moonlight. He swiped his thumb across her wrist. 

It was ironic, he thought. Whenever Byleth’s hands clasped his own, they seemed to contain a strength Dimitri had always believed he would never have. But seeing their palms pressed together, holding each other aloft, Dimitri mused, “With our hands together, perhaps you are right.”

Was strength ever meant to be alone? 

They traded a few words here and there, lost in their own universe, loving in a language they only knew. But before they even knew it, the sunlight had crept in the windows, sweeping the room in red to signal another day. 

Dimitri reluctantly let Byleth go as she sat up. When she slipped out of the covers, his palm stretched outwards, indulging in the warm imprint she left behind on the bed. He let himself doze for a few more minutes. 

Byleth entered the room in pristine ceremonial robes. With now practiced hands, she strapped a dagger into a hidden slit of her dark blue dress. Once secure, she plucked a flower from a bouquet in the corner and sank into the bed again. Dimitri could smell her rosewater perfume as she tucked the flower into his hair behind his ear. “I will see you after the gifting ceremony.”

Dimitri nodded. “I’ll come directly to your study. Should I send for Claude when it’s finished?”

“No, I’ll do that. Just try to enjoy yourself,” she laughed. 

Dimitri snorted, but he leaned up and kissed her cheek. All the pompous ceremony would end soon, and the restoration of the Kingdom could finally begin. 

* * *

As Dimitri had expected, the gifting ceremony was quite uneventful. Church attendants filed in and out of the doors, each accompanying a representative or carrying goods from far territories. As per tradition, which quite frankly, Dimitri was long sick of, the newly coronated king was to receive a litany of offerings as symbolic gestures of goodwill. But Dimitri shifted in his seat, feeling restless after hours of exchanging trivial pleasantries and gratitude.

_You call yourself a king? A selfish man hoarding material gifts that he doesn’t deserve?_ Glenn snarled.

Dimitri’s head throbbed. He wanted to stare into the distance, to get lost in the stained glass windows. But he set his gaze on Shamir, Alois, and Cyril standing guard at the entrance of the room. Flags fluttered alongside each delegation, declaring a territory and crest. Flayn also flitted about in flashes of green, directing the exchanges.

Surely there were more effective ways of uniting a kingdom? Dimitri scanned the room, unable to readily recognize any faces, despite their noble lineages. Who could he trust? Who could he rely upon? Who was connected to their local communities? What were the immediate needs of the people? 

But Dimitri’s questions of the restoration were interrupted as he warily eyed the ten large barrels of coffee rolling in. A minor Adrestian lord had sent them, but Dimitri hadn’t the faintest idea of what coffee even tasted like. He made a note in the back of his mind to give one to Hapi and distribute the other barrels to the church attendants today. 

The coffee was soon followed by several chests worth of satin gloves. Dimitri provided a polite smile, and repeated the same words of gratitude. He slid his fingers over a pair, knowing fully well they were unsuitable for the cold climate of Faerghus. They were also far too small. None of them fit his own hands, and Byleth detested the feeling of gloves. He pressed them back into the box, wondering if Mercedes could make use of them for her stitching.

Dimitri was, admittedly, pleasantly surprised by a few gifts. A silver lance from the Edmund territory in particular caught his attention. He held the light weapon in his right hand, examining the lustrous mother of pearl decorating the blade. Dimitri couldn’t thank Marianna in person, as she had left with Ashe by her side last night, so he would have to send a letter. It was bittersweet to see his friends depart so soon, but their penned words would have to bridge the distance.

He was pulled from his ruminations once more as the last representative exited the room. Flayn approached and said, “Allow me to retrieve your crown, Your Majesty.” 

“Thank you, Flayn.” He bowed over and lowered his head to her height. Flayn tiptoed, lifting the crown from his head. 

She then furtively whispered into his ear, “I don’t suppose you will be taking all of the baskets of salted fish back with you to Fhirdiad?” 

Dimitri laughed. He was planning on distributing the fish to a few rural towns, but surely a few baskets could be spared for her. 

“You can expect a delivery in the coming week, Flayn.”

She giggled and bowed, before bouncing down the stairs, her footsteps light. Dimitri eagerly raised himself from the chair. He smoothed his royal blue cape over his shoulder and descended the stairs. Thanking a few of the attendants, he made his way to Shamir and said, “I have an appointment, but is there anything I can help with before I go?” 

She shook her head, “No, Your Majesty. We will take care of everything from here.” 

“Please excuse me, then. Thank you for your help today.” 

He shook her hand on the way out, and exchanged greetings with Alois and Cyril. Dimitri then trailed through the hallway, ducking into the back stairwell. He could feel his footsteps grow heavy, drained from the idle hours of the ceremony. He trailed his hand on the linings of the stone, just like he used to do as a student, tracing the edges against his gloved fingers. Dimitri loosened the collar of his black suit, breathing in deeply to ease his nerves. 

The last time Dimitri had properly spoken to Claude was in Derdriu. His uncle’s blood had stained the blade of his lance, and Claude had flown away on his white wyvern, handing over the Failnaught and the Alliance. Soonafter the war, Claude von Riegan was no more, and King Khalid had sent a delegation to the Kingdom requesting the establishment of proper relations between the two entities.

Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder if he ever truly knew the man who had fought by his side in the Academy. The man he had fought for in Derdriu. 

Would he be meeting Claude? Or King Khalid?

But as Dimitri reached the third floor and turned the corner, he stopped. A woman stood in the middle of the hallway in front of Byleth’s door. Her face was veiled with a dark chainmail, and she held a small black box in her gloved hands. Her hair was severely tucked into a conical cap. 

Dimitri frowned. Who was she?

She inclined her head, “The Agarthans send their greetings, Your Majesty.” 

_The Agarthans?_ Dimitri echoed in his head. He hadn’t the faintest idea of who they were. “Forgive me, my lady. I do not recall seeing you in the reception hall. Were you a participant of the gifting ceremony?”

His hands grew sweaty underneath his gloves. He eyed Byleth’s door, a lurking fear in his stomach.

The woman caught his look. “The Archbishop is not in, I’m afraid. My name is Bias. It will do you well to remember that. After all, you forced me into leadership after you deposed Thales in Derdriu.” 

He gave her a bewildered look. _Thales? But the only notable leader at Derdriu was Lord Arundel-_

His days as a student seemed to engulf him. Lord Arundel’s church donations had ceased in 1174. In the following years, his uncle was always courteous, but stony during their encounters, as if he could not recognize the amicable years Dimitri and Edelgard had spent growing up together. 

His mind continued to race. Solon had disguised himself as the librarian Tomas. Kronya was the monastery student, Monica. Cornelia hadn’t aged a day since Hapi had escaped from her as a child.

Was it so unreasonable that even his uncle was replaced by an imposter?

Did Edelgard know this?

Bias approached with small steps, but Dimitri remained frozen with his thoughts. She lifted one of his arms and deposited the box into his palm. She then adjusted her sleeves casually, picking at a string as if they were having a conversation about the weather. A small triangle of pale skin emerged, appearing nearly grey in the light, “You haven’t found out yet,” she muttered enigmatically under her breath before giving a withering laugh, “Have you all always been this incompetent? I can’t believe you defeated Thales. I alwasy told him those who believe in their goddess have always been like sheep, blindly following a fantasy.”

Although Dimitri was not well versed in magic, he could feel a cold energy emananting from her. His mouth grew numb. He had no explanation, but her magic felt _dead_ , as if it were entombed in a grave long dried. Questions swarmed his head as he struggled for a coherent response. 

Bias continued, cocking her head, “I suppose you wouldn’t know my people. Seiros erased our names, I’m sure. She likes to do that. Playing with stories.”

Dimitri blurted, in some mad attempt to say something, “You speak as if you know her.”

Bias laughed again, a brittle sound. “Ah, my mistake. I suppose you would know her as Rhea. But watch your attitude, boy. Anselma didn’t raise you this way.”

Something in him broke. 

“Look at that wide eye,” Bias said, “That’s how Anselma always described you. Just a scared little boy.”

Dimitri could no longer see the woman in front of him. He was looking into a room, with a woman illuminated by the moonlight striking through the arched window. He could see the mole at the corner of her eye.

Patricia looked up from her needlework and gestured him in with a small wave of her hand. A ring glittered, beckoning. _Come in, my love_ , she would say. 

“Dimitri?” A voice pierced through behind him, but he could not look away from his stepmother, lest she should disappear in flames once more. His lips sealed shut, as if a whisper would shatter her. 

“Dimitri!” The voice called again. But he could no longer hear. Dimitri lunged forward, his hand stretched outwards towards the shape of his stepmother, but he only grasped at air. Patricia disappeared in a piercing light, taken away from him once more. 

He collapsed to his knees. She couldn’t be alive. He saw the coffin, lowered into a fresh grave. A void that would take what was left of his humanity with him. He had thrown in her favorite flower to the depths, watching the petals explode upon impact. 

He saw the coffin, but he had never dared to look inside.

The box fell from his hand, cracking open to reveal a ring. It rolled across the floor, away from him. But he could not bring himself to care. 

He just felt numb. 

A pair of warm hands encircled him, lifting him up. He saw flashes of a familiar mint green and light glinting off of heavy armor, but he could not say a word. 

* * *

Dimitri couldn’t remember when he resurfaced. All he knew was that Byleth gripped his hand tightly. Dedue was sitting across from him, preparing tea. Claude stood to the side with a tome in hand. 

He could hear the idle conversation around him.

“How did that woman circumvent all of the monastery security forces? None of the soldiers on duty reported ever seeing a mage. She could have killed Dimitri.”

“She warped as soon as she saw Dedue and I approaching, so I assume that was her method of entry. She could have easily surpassed the guards that way. But even then, warp spells require accuracy. You must know your destination before even thinking about using that magic. She must have intimate knowledge of the monastery.”

“Well, the coronation week has been very publicized. A lot of people are filtering in and out with information, so I imagine it wouldn’t be incredibly difficult to find maps and schedules.” A pause. “I think the more important question is why didn’t she actually try to kill him? She just confronted him with a ring. Like a marriage proposal gone terribly wrong.”

A cup was set down with a clatter. “Is this a joke to you?”

“Sorry, Dedue. Bad timing.”

“But Claude does bring up a valid point. Dimitri was unarmed. She could have-” Byleth clamped her teeth shut, as if unwilling to acknowledge the possibility of Dimitri’s death. Dimitri used his thumb to brush across her hand, hoping to soothe her. That he was still here.

Dedue noticed Dimitri’s moving thumb and settled a cup in front of him, “Please have a sip, Dimitri.”

Dimitri could smell the chamomile wafting upwards. He raised his left hand shakily, letting the steam swirl upwards into his nose. It was funny how the foggy tendrils seemed to clear his mind. 

As he lifted the cup, Dimitri noticed his sleeve was torn once more. He tried to recall his afternoon sessions with Mercedes, who had guided him through multiple broken needles with the patience of a saint. He would clumsily dip the needle in and out of the fabric, watching it miraculously come together whole once more. He would trace his jagged lines under the pads of his fingers, disquiet about the imperfection, but Mercedes had smiled. She said, “My mother had always told me the beauty of needlework is not to restore, but to mend. Maybe I’m speaking nonsense, but I always found that comforting. I hope it does the same for you.” 

With each draw of breath, Dimitri could feel the needle dipping in and out once more. “I...I apologize. I am ready to speak with you all now.”

Dedue searched his face, but shook his head, “There is no need to apologize.”

Dimitri shakily nodded and finally realized he was gripping Byleth’s hand tightly. Fearing her bones would crack, he started to let go, but she grasped at his hand again, entwining their fingers. “I am grateful for you all. I’m not sure what would have happened if...” He paused, not wanting to entertain the possibility of anything else. He cleared his throat, “That woman outside is supposedly named Bias. She was made the leader of the Agarthans after Thales was killed in Derdriu.”

Claude looked up immediately at that, snapping the book shut. But he remained silent, waiting for Dimitri to continue.

“I am not sure who exactly the Agarthans are, nor who Thales is for that matter, but I suspect he assumed the guise of Lord Arundel, given he was the leader of the Imperial forces in that battle.”

Byleth frowned, “So Lord Arundel was an imposter? That sounds like-” Her face paled slightly and she persed her lips. “That sounds like Solon and Kronya.”

Dimitri added grimly, “And Cornelia.” 

Dedue asked, “So these Agarthans can be assumed to be the allies of the Empire during the war. Was this all an attempted act of retaliation?”

Claude ran a hand through his hair. “I think you may be partially right, Dedue.” He looked exhausted as he settled at the table with the rest of them and folded his hands around a cup. His fingers tapped against the fine glass, and Dimitri lowered his eye to watch the ripples bloom from each beat, forming an impossible, bobbing web of curves and lines in the tea. 

Claude said, “My arrival was actually delayed because there is a...situation in the border between the Goneril and Almyran territories.” He prefaced, “No one died or is hurt, but-” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t even know how to describe it. What looked like a javelin of light pierced the mountain range in Fodlan’s Throat. It was...devastating. There’s only a hole in the landscape.”

Byleth leaned forward in alarm, “A javelin of light? Who sent it? Why has no one alerted us about this?”

“The Fodlans and Almyrans were both too busy hurling accusations at each other to get the word out, but no one knows who unleashed the javelin. Nader and Judith are there to tide things over while I came to deliver the news to you personally. We cannot afford another war. Not after what we’ve been through. We just can’t.”

Dimitri felt cold once more, falling back in shocked silence. So this was the news Claude would bring. That the war he thought he could bury burgeoned in the dark, threatening to spill into the light.

Claude’s arms waved as he continued to speak, “The thing is, no human could have created that javelin of light, even with our crests, unless they somehow harness divine power. There is something else going on here.”

Dimitri added, much to his horror, “The timing is also unsettling. This javelin of light struck during the coronation, when morale would have been the highest. There would have been chaos.” 

Byleth mused idly, “If these Agarthans have been able to disguise themselves as crucial figures, including the former Lord Arundel, without being detected for years, I can’t imagine these javelins of light are that far beyond their capabilities.” 

Claude nodded in affirmation and leaned back into his seat, “And if they have disguised themselves as political figures, imagine how much of our history has been guided by their actions. If there were war between Almyra and Fodlan now, we would merely play directly into their hands. Play the parts of their narrative.” His eyebrows furrowed and he folded his fingers together. “Bias wasn’t here to kill you. I think she was here to gauge your reaction to the javelin of light; to see how the new king would respond to a declaration of war in the fledgling kingdom.”

Dedue frowned, “Or could this also be a call for attention?”

“Possibly, but if the Agarthans had planned all of this, they must have a larger agenda. Bias also said that all worshipers were fed by fantasies.” He shivered as he realized they echoed Edelgard’s words. “Another bloody war between an already weakened Fodlan and Almyra would certainly allow the Agarthans to dominate and eliminate the church for good.” 

Dimitri, however, could not bring himself to disagree with the idea of church reformation. Although the goddess had granted him his wishes, and he had literally seen Byleth fuse with divinity, he had existed without the grace of the goddess for a long time. He was more often convinced the goddess was burnt away by the fires alongside his family. 

Dimitri continued, “However, I do not see a clear connection as to why the Agarthans are so against the church. Bias said that Seiros had erased their names from history, but she also said the most curious thing...she said that Rhea is Seiros herself. How is that possible? Seiros exists in legends.”

Byleth and Claude exchanged a look.

Dimitri caught their glance and wanted to groan. “Based on your faces, apparently Rhea is Seiros.” _How did they already know?_ “But that still doesn’t explain what the Agarthans have against Rhea.”

Byleth squeezed Dimitri’s hand. She said, “I'm afraid no one has the answers for that. We will have to investigate that further.” She turned to Claude. “I see why you chose to deliver the news personally, Claude, but we will have to act quickly before the public reacts.”

“I agree. I think this goes without saying, but we must be discrete about this for the sake of both our kingdoms.” Claude stared at Dimtiri. “We have to be careful with who we speak with, and how we speak about it. The truth will inevitably reach the public eventually, but even we don’t know the full picture. A misunderstood truth is more dangerous than a lie.” 

The room went silent and Dimitri’s head pounded in angry bursts. He clenched his jaw. 

Byleth mused, “The most effective way to defeat the Agarthans would be to eliminate the entire line of authority, but other than Bias, we have no idea how many other prominent figures there are. They could be disguised among us. We need as much information as possible without causing too much alarm.” She hesitated, “We don’t even know where to find them.”

Claude interceded, “I salvaged some contacts from Hubert’s former spy network. It’s not what it was, but there is surely some remnant information we can use.” He scratched at his head. “But if that’s a dead end, and as a last resort, I might be able to trace the trajectory of the javelin. I’ll have to recruit Annette and Lysithea though, if they’re still available.”

“They’re both here. Lysithea is doing research with Professor Hanneman and Annette is helping me rebuild the Academy.” 

“Wonderful.” Claude stood with a weary wink, but he was quiet, as if choosing his words carefully. “We didn’t survive a war out of luck. This is our chance to end it for good.” He rapped the table with a weak knock. “We’ll reconvene soon once we know more.” 

He closed the door softly behind him. The three sat in uneasy silence, weighed down by the uncertainty of it all. 

Dedue spoke first, “Dimitri, the news we received today was certainly shocking." Dedue pursed his lips, as if rolling words around his mouth. "But I must ask. There was something else that woman said to you, wasn't there?”

Dimitri inadvertently held Byleth’s hand tighter. Dedue knew Dimitri too well, too deeply. He fixed his eye on a point on the table, unable to meet his gaze. His voice cracked, “She said...she said my stepmother sent her wishes.”

Both Byleth and Dedue stilled, sharing glances with each other. The fires seemed to erupt around Dimitri and Dedue again, searing their skin and blinding their eyes.

Dedue choked, “Surely, that is impossible.”

"The coffin was empty, Dedue,” Dimitri said hollowly.

Byleth whispered, “But the fires…”

Dedue closed his eyes, pain lacing his voice, “It must be a ruse.”

“Bias called her Anselma. That was her Adrestian name. Only someone who knew her well would know that name.”

Byleth slipped a hand into her pocket and asked, “Then do you recognize this ring, Dimitri? It was from the jewelry box.”

He picked it up gently from her fingers. He wanted to weep.

It was still intact, appearing just as how he had remembered it on his stepmother’s hand. The lilac gems still shone with an innate light, interwoven with clusters of miniscule sapphires. His father had commissioned it from a renowned metalsmith in Fhirdiad, bashfully claiming the colors reminded him of his new wife’s eyes. 

Dimitri could hear his father scream behind him. He wanted to as well. The thudding in his head seemed to grow louder.

He confessed, “This was my stepmother’s.”

Dedue bowed his head. Dimitri closed his eye, “I do not know if this means that my stepmother is one of them, or if she has been held captive after all these years, but it seems that finding the Agarthans is the only viable solution,” he glanced at Dedue, “I am terrified of what the truth may reveal, but perhaps we will finally find justice for our people.”

Dedue lifted his face and held Dimitri’s gaze, a history of pain passing between their eyes. "I will follow you wherever, Dimitri."

There were many details yet to be finalized, but for the moment, Dimitri was grateful to be surrounded by the living. He could forget that his heart was still haunted by one last ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry this took so long - it’s been hard to get in a writing mindset this past month for a lot of personal reasons but i hope to keep the momentum i have now!
> 
> I had a looot of internal debate regarding the structure of the chapter and the dialogues - i feel okay about it now but then again i should probably edit this a little more...anyway,
> 
> I also hc byleth as the big spoon but rn they are just sad spoons :(
> 
> follow me on twitter! (@munagerie)

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever just want to write one scene, but then your brain snowballs? this is exactly that and now the scene i wanted to write is the last chapter lmaoooo
> 
> anyway i really hope yall enjoy this!! i once again took many liberties with worldbuilding and i, for some reason, love writing coronation scenes lol so this will be interesting. the next chapter will feature claude and will propel the actual plot a little further!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/munagerie) for updates!!


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